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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26943457">Vasović Overture</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyrebirdSliske/pseuds/LyrebirdSliske'>LyrebirdSliske</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Pisica Vagaboanda: Pict [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Runescape (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Divergence, Context Setting, Different Tense From The Rest, Gen, Mentions of Ableism, Mentions of Death, Pre-Crandor Destruction, Short, Smoking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:20:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>755</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26943457</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyrebirdSliske/pseuds/LyrebirdSliske</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Year --- ?A<br/>A short description of the Vasović family, and a rough sketch of Pict-and-company's relatively unremarkable beginnings prior to Elvarg's coup.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Pisica Vagaboanda: Pict [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840735</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Vasović Overture</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Vasović family was known in a vague, conceptual sense to most households on Crandor. Not the small family that, for the most part, lived in a book shop around the middle of things, but the surname itself.  <em>“Something to do with the dragon,”</em>  would be the usual reply from anyone who was asked, while particularly studious children might recite something about  <em>“Elisabeta Vasović chaining the beast”</em>  as told in an excitable but unpleasant mnemonic rhyme. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, memories are fast to fade. Elisabeta settled into governance, sired two children, forbade them from following in any of her footsteps, and retired to a very comfortable home on the opposite side of the volcano. She would pass away in the midst of a potluck, her neighbors of moss giants and their insectoid cattle the witnesses of her extremely intentional final merriment, many years before the destruction of the city she devoted her early half of life to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mihai Vasović, her elder child, vanished into the caves one fateful morning, and perhaps even still lurks the volcanic passages. Though he occasionally came home to visit for holidays, and had reportedly been living with friends on Karamja where he had picked up work under a local historiographer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doina Vasović, her younger child, maintained a much more carefully executed life in line with her ethics of business: sheets of inventory, expert organization, and occasional weekends barhopping with three friends, to taste. She married once, divorced quickly, and had no children.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until she had three, very abruptly, but maybe had had them for a suitably long time for them to be aged 11, 8, and 6. She had everything that explicitly meticulous parents tended to have - childhood illustrations, birth handprints, old books - and if she or anyone else squinted hard enough they all had suitable sets of memories. Of course they had to, because children didn't just come to life out of thin air. And nobody asked, and none of them questioned, because frankly it was no one's business where they came from.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So instead everyone made their assumptions of adoptions, or affairs, or simple misplaced time, or some distant mainland relative sending them in secret for refuge from Meiyerditch, and so whatever the family of four had secreted away was well kept. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The eldest child was named for her grandmother. And then he was the eldest and only son, named for himself with inspiration from a side character in an excruciating demon-slayer novel that he got a week of heckling enjoyment out of. Pict and the governor's daughter, Josephina, struck up thick as thieves, and made this well known; between respective apprenticeships - one with mages of smoke, one with the island's shipwrights - both would occupy the Vasović store attic with the heavy cling of tobacco and budding chaos. By the age of 23, Pict worked a chimney sweep’s rounds, while Jo had since taken to a ship and a respectable beginner’s trading route. Where their schedules met, a slightly more aged but no less gleefully foolish chaos reigned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One year before the end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second eldest child, Viorica, resonated very strongly with the siren's song of good stout business. She compartmentalized well, and learned from their mother a love of a well planned course, even if their choice of profession and relaxation differed. Numbers, trustworthy and objective and unchanging, turned her to an interest in things such as commerce, ever changing, which in turn lead to her pursuit of an apprenticeship in Varrock by the age of 20. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One year before the end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The youngest of the Vasović children was Gavrila. Steady with her hands, even steadier with her wit. She found in the locks on the doors, the knives in the kitchen, and the kettle on the stove a useful philosophy about multi-purpose applications and the balance of help and harm. The wheels of her often-used chair, for example, when used to run over someone's foot: beneficial and cathartic for her, harmful to the person on the other end, and instructive on such topics as autonomy, respectful space, and not asking if she would “just rather be carried.” Which was not an event that incited anything within her, particularly, yet it is a story she recalled with a glint of delighted, morbid exaggeration as she worked the forges at age 18. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One year before the end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And on that end, which began as a still summer night in year 139, a flightless dragon that everyone knew could not swim demonstrated to a small island city that she could</span>
  <em>
    <span> learn.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just a quick but useful addendum retconning and updating the old stabs at the beginning. (Still fond of the one with the spiders, but just doesn't fit at the end of the day so 👏 this one does.)</p><p>(10/14/20 edit, read <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tribs/profile">this</a> please.)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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